


this ain't no high school

by bokutoma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Heathers, Blood and Violence, Bulimia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gun Violence, M/M, Murder, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Slurs, Zarkon is a Creep, hm anyway, i mean it's heathers so, make that a tag, uh also zarkon is like gowan so he's kinda a creep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-17 14:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13661037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: lance mcclain is an unfortunate product of westerburg high school's social sewers - a mess of anxiety, low self esteem, and depression. somehow, however, he still finds it in himself to be optimistic, even when it feels like there's nothing left to be excited for. however, a chance encounter with the famed heathers of his school seems to set lance on an upward trajectory to social stardom - even if that's not what he wants.between an old face becoming more familiar and the arrival of a new kid, could this be what lance needs to break free of the shackles of westerburg high?





	1. dear diary: i believe i'm a good person

**Author's Note:**

> this is a heathers au in the loosest interpretation :/// sorry not sorry but my son lance veronica mcclain doesn't deserve that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/6/18 - sorry! just editing some mistakes

Lance McClain was tired.

He had woken up today at 5 to go through his skin care routine, but fell asleep midway through moisturizing and woke up to realize that the skin of his left cheek was  _dry._ Well, not quite dry  _yet,_ but his cheek would have become the fucking Sahara if he hadn't hurried.

Then, when he had finally managed to get his skincare under control, he had realized that it was now 7:20, and he had to leave in  _ten minutes_ if he wanted to show up somewhere between ridiculously early and normal time, because he  _needed_ a seat by Hunk, and  _oh my god he was going to miss the plantains his mom made._

Luckily, he had laid out his outfit the night before, and he pulled on his comfy baby blue sweatshirt over his tight maroon v neck (because it was cold and he would wait until day two to show off his defined muscles, thank you very much) and shimmied into a pair of grey jeans. He shot himself a couple of finger guns in the mirror for luck, then barreled downstairs, plucking the fork from the hand of his waiting mother to scoop a plantain into his mouth. If he groaned, that was nobody's business but his own, and besides, Mamá's plantains were to  _die_ for.

He had brushed his teeth and all but spilled into the car, maybe running a stop sign or two in his haste, but it's not like the cops were watching, right?

Hopefully not.

Now he was here, it was lunchtime, and Lance McClain was  _tired._

Everyone had been, for lack of a better term, fucking  _mean_ since the first step he had taken into this godforsaken building, and he couldn't help wondering what the hell had happened to everyone. It hadn't been overnight, he was sure about that, but when had they all changed from happy, loving children to the assholes they were today? This wasn't high school - this was a motherfucking war. With like....aliens and shit. And big guns.

A kid was slammed against the lockers, and Lance winced in sympathy, though he only paused long enough to ensure that it wasn't Hunk. Not many people could out-muscle his best friend, but he wouldn't put it past Sendak, that asshole. At least Throk couldn't budge him.

Good Lord above, college could not come soon enough. Lance dreamed of French cafes and ivy covered buildings, not this horrible limbo, stuck somewhere between hell and...whatever the next closest thing to hell was.

Another kid took a spill next to him, likely knocked over by Sendak's lackeys. Lance offered him a hand, but the kid pulled it away like he was burned. "Fuck off, loser!"

Lance shrugged, slightly stung, but not surprised. "Sorry."

He straightened, suddenly exhausted, and kept trudging forward like he was walking to his doom.  _Not far off,_ he thought pessimistically. Insults echoed off the lockers like the sounds of gunshots piercing through hearts. Things would get better as soon as letters came from college; then, life away from Westerburg would be more than a simple dream.

For now, though, Lance would just have to fight the urge to set this entire town on fire.

He grabbed a slice of pizza from the lunch line and paid, not particularly eager to eat the terrible cafeteria food, but not seeing much of an option. He smiled briefly at the sour looking lunch lady, and upon getting no response, figured that she was probably made of stone. Oh well. Her loss on missing out on a majestic Lance McClain smile (guaranteed to rock your world, patent pending). He decided right there that he was going to be unshakable this year. Nothing would bring him down!

Of course, this resolution stopped the moment it began when Sendak appeared out of nowhere and smacked his lunch tray so it flipped, narrowly missing his hoodie. 

Ah, Sendak. Westerburg's top linebacker and top dipshit.

"The fuck did you say to me, skank?"

Oops. Had he said that out loud?

"Nothing! Sorry," he muttered. He would be going without lunch today, he supposed. 

Everything about today kind of really sucked. 

* * *

Lance had only been slouching in his seat for all of a minute before hollering from the shittier side of Westerburg High signaled the arrival of his best friend. "Hunk the Dumptruck!" shrieked Throk (maybe the smartest member of the football team, which was kind of like being the tallest dwarf). "Make way! Wide load!"

Sometimes Lance wondered why Hunk didn't deliver a couple quick punches to Throk's jaw and call it a day.

Other times, he wondered how his best friend could remain so serene and unaffected by all of this. He was truly the saint Westerburg didn't deserve.

"Hey Hunk!" he called, managing a full smile for the angel of this godforsaken place. "How is the light of my life today?"

Hunk beamed at him, and Lance swore he heard God himself singing. "I'm doing good! We still doing movie night tonight?"

"Hell yeah! If you're making your special popcorn, you know I'll be there to eat it. What movie are we watching?"

"I was thinking Robocop, since we had to switch to a Barbie movie last time for my sister. We can't leave it unfinished."

Lance pretended to swoon. "Hunk, you are a flower among weeds."

Of course, someone must have decided that the losers were looking too happy, because at that very moment, Throk strolled over, a shit eating grin stretching his already unattractive features into something even uglier, and snatched Hunk's lunchbox.

"What do we have in here, little piggy? Must be something fattening, if you're anything to go by," he sneered, his mouth twisting in an unnatural and cruel fashion. "Maybe I should take that for you. Wouldn't want you to be that ugly forever, you know."

Lance stood up without really registering what he was doing, back straight and eyes cold. "Give that back, asshole."

Throk laughed. "I'm sorry, what did you say to me?"

"I said give it back, you stupid asshole," Lance replied, tone icy. "You're a high school has been waiting to happen, you peaked in seventh grade, and I don't know where the hell you get off calling Hunk ugly, because if you'd check a mirror, you'd see that you have less than nothing going on in the hottie department."

For a moment, the entire cafeteria was quiet. Then Throk leaned forward, teeth bared in some sort of cross between a smile and a snarl. "Careful, McClain. Speak too loud and you'll get deported."

Every student burst into laughter, though it mostly seemed forced. Fuming, Lance snatched the lunchbox back and handed it to Hunk, who simply smiled and began to unpack everything. 

Throk turned back with a laugh, but Lance didn't care anymore, because Hunk pulled out not one but  _two_ of his famous club sandwiches, and he was  _handing one to Lance._

"Hunk, buddy," he said, swearing that he could feel tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. "I swear to fucking God, you are the best man to ever walk this earth. If we weren't best friends, I would be head over heels for you by now."

Hunk smiled. "Same here, buddy."

Lance grinned back, adding a wink for dramatic effect. but the minute that his best friend turned away, it soured. What the hell did he have to live for anymore?


	2. acxa the almighty // this could be beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance meets the heathers and feels something like bliss for one beautiful moment
> 
> *edit: i didn't get as far as i expected to and forgot to change the summary. my bad!

Lance finished his sandwich a whole two minutes before the bell rang, so he rushed to get up to throw both his and Hunk's trash away.

If he hadn't, maybe he would have stayed plain old Lance McClain forever.

Because it happened this way, however, he got a full view of the goddesses of Westerburg High strut into the cafeteria almost half an hour late. Some bizarre feeling, jealousy mixed with hatred and unmistakable longing, pumped through him at the sight of them, three people so unused to being stepped on that they didn't mind absorbing all of the light of the room.

No one quite knew why they were called the Heathers; perhaps once upon a time, the original Heathers had all shared that name, but currently, the only similarity in the Heathers' names was the number of letters contained within.

Ezor, on the left of the formation as always, looked as bubbly as ever, the true image of a socialite, even in this hellhole. Her hair was dyed a bright shade of pink over her normally blonde tresses, and for a moment Lance wanted to go over and ask her what brand of dye she had used. He didn't, of course; talking to a Heather without her permission was practically social suicide. Her father sold engagement rings, and some wondered if he got into the business knowing how spoiled Ezor and her mother were and would continue to be.

Nyma, on the right of the formation, was the perpetual silver medal of the Heathers: never first, but never quite last. Though she was astoundingly pretty, her wavy hair bound in twin ponytails, she didn't have much personality to speak of, at least compared to the other two. However, she ran yearbook and was looking to sink her nails into drama as well, and, according to rumor, anyway, had implants paid for by her mother, so Lance figured that was more than enough going for her.

Then there was Acxa, the almighty queen of high school. She walked in the middle like a queen flanked by her attendants, which wasn't too far off from the truth. Somehow, without being involved in a single activity, she was the most notorious person in the school. She was the leader of leaders, the top Heather, and as much as everyone despised her, they wanted to be her even more.

She was a mythic bitch.

Practically everyone who was interested in girls wanted to claim one for their own. If they weren't, they wanted to be one in order to draw attention to themselves for their own personal gain. Under that, everyone...everyone simply wanted them to be a little nicer. It was a futile hope, but a beautiful one all the same.

They sauntered over to the table of football players, obviously only here to make an entrance rather than eat. Ezor, effervescent as could be, brought attention to herself naturally, her fingers brushing along waiting shoulders so naturally that Lance didn't doubt she had very little idea of the power she held. Nyma fought for it, her touches a little more forced, a little firmer, a cry for the spotlight when there were already others looking at her.

Acxa, however, neither needed nor wanted the aid of a little friendliness. She was blank, her face showing nothing but boredom, and yet, no matter how eyes may have drifted to the others, she was the undisputed goddess, and everyone was just scrabbling for her scraps.

God, Lance wanted to be her so badly.

* * *

 Lance was just about to come out of the bathroom at the end of third period when he heard vomiting coming from the girls' bathroom.

"Grow up, Nyma. Bulimia is so '17."

"Nyma, maybe you should see a doctor..."

"You're right. Maybe I should."

Lance was unsure who she was talking to, but he wouldn't be surprised if she continued regardless of either of the other Heathers' advice. It was no secret that Nyma was obsessed with her weight, after all.

He started to walk out again, disappointed by the lack of juicy gossip, but quickly aborted his next step when he heard the clacking of heels on tile. There was no way that wasn't Ms. Haggar, and he didn't want to have to speak with her, hall pass or no.

"Ah, Acxa and Ezor..."

She was interrupted by more vomiting from Nyma, who clearly hadn't heard Haggar walk in. 

"And Nyma. Perhaps you didn't realize, as you were vomiting your brains out, but class is still in session."

Lance whipped out his pass from his pocket and began to write.

"Nyma wasn't feeling well. We were helping her," said Acxa, her matter of fact tone enough to sway almost anyone.

Almost, because Lance could hear Haggar's heel clicking as she presumably tapped her toe in impatience. "Not without a hall pass, you're not."

This was it. This was Lance's time to strike. He stepped out of the bathroom, acting as though he was wiping freshly washed hands on his jeans. "Actually, Ms. Haggar, I couldn't help but overhear you," he called from outside the restrooms. "All four of us  _are_ out on a hall pass. Yearbook committee."

He heard Haggar's heels click before she emerged from the bathroom, her eyes terrifyingly hard. "Let me see that."

He handed the pass over meekly, watching her eyes scan the paper viciously, as though she could burn it with her gaze.

"It does appear that you are all listed. Get wherever you're going quickly." With that, she stalked away, each footstep echoing like a gunshot against the tile floors.

Lance sighed in relief, glad that she had missed the slight wobble in the R of Ezor's name that he had accidentally made when his hand shook, and prepared to go back to class.

"That must have been an excellent forgery to get the hag off of our backs."

He managed to keep his reaction down to a small flinch, then turned around to see the Heathers staring at him, arranged in battle formation. "It was decent," he muttered, unsure what they wanted from him at this point.

Acxa tilted her chin, giving him an appraising look. "Who are you?"

His eyes widened. This could be his one way ticket up. "Uh, Lance McClain. I crave a boon."

Nyma snickered, but Acxa merely looked thoughtful. "What boon?"

Lance racked his brain, lamenting that he hadn't been prepared for this moment. "Um, let me sit with you at lunch. Just one time, and you don't even have to talk or anything. Just let me sit with you, and then people will think that you tolerate me and leave me alone."

Acxa and Nyma both somehow managed to giggle imperiously at his request, but, unless Lance was reading her face wrong, Ezor looked rather friendly, almost sympathetic. 

"Before you answer," he continued. "I can do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes as well."

Nyma's eyes lit up. "Can you do prescriptions?"

"Shut up, Nyma!"

"Sorry, Acxa."

Acxa stalked closer, and every Planet Earth movie Lance had ever watched with Hunk sped through his mind in a flash. Acxa was a lioness, and Lance worried that he was going to be her next kill.

Instead, she paused in front of him and tilted his head to the side so that the light shined on it more clearly. "You know, for an utter nobody, you do have good bone structure and clear skin."

Ezor piped up. "And a symmetrical face! If I had a bone saw, I could split your skull and come away with matching halves. That's super important."

Nyma scoffed. "He could stand to lose a few pounds, though."

Acxa nodded sharply, more to confirm something to herself than out of any agreement with Nyma. "You know, McClain, if you're willing, we could make you look beautiful."

Lance blinked in surprise. "...Yes?"

A devilish grin spread across Acxa's face. "Then we'll make this beautiful."


	3. welcome to westerburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance is an official heather, and we're introduced to two very interesting guys - at least topically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DIDN'T GET TO KEITH AGAIN I'M SO SORRY
> 
> but at least we get lotor??? kinda???

"I hope you have gym later," Acxa said, something that might have been a question had it come from anyone else. "Nyma, Ezor, and I all have it seventh period. You have to make your debut at  _some_ point, and when better then when everyone's all hot and sweaty already?"

Lance nodded rather rapidly, still unsure how this was coming into being. "I-"

"Acxa, he better not look like a raggedy bitch during gym, or I'm not claiming him," Nyma cut in.

Acxa narrowed her eyes. "That goes without saying,  _Heather._ I'm sure our new bitch won't disappoint, right?" She cocked her eyebrow at him.

He fidgeted awkwardly, unsure what to do with his hands. "Um...I usually wear booty shorts and a white t shirt. Is that okay?"

Nyma cackled. "A slut? Maybe he's more of a Heather than I thought he would be."

Lance flushed, biting his lip. It wasn't like he was  _trying_ to be slutty. Booty shorts were just comfortable, and if people  _happened_ to stare at his ass, well...it was the one thing he felt confident about, so he didn't mind flaunting it. 

Acxa didn't respond to Nyma's comments or his embarrassment, instead nodding sharply once more. "You'll play volleyball with us. Good chance to make sure that everyone knows who you are now."

Ezor clapped excitedly. "Ooh, can we give him a makeover now?"

"Lord knows he needs one."

"Shut  _up,_ Nyma."

"Sorry, Acxa."

The look in the head Heather's eyes was strangely predatory, and Lance gulped, feeling like he was about to be devoured. "That hoodie has  _got_ to go. It's not even cold out."

Self-consciously, Lance unzipped his jacket and peeled it off, suddenly hyper aware of the way his shirt clung to his body underneath. 

Ezor oohed softly. "That is  _such_ a cute shirt, Lance! We have to go shopping together sometime."

He nodded, distantly grateful that at least one of them approved, but he knew whose opinion really mattered here. His eyes were glued to Acxa's expression like a parched man hoping for water. 

"You look decent, I suppose," she conceded, and he felt like sobbing with relief. "But we need some makeup on you, immediately. I have mascara, and a light lip gloss would look good on you. One of you give me some blush, and Nyma, I need your brush. Let's make this bitch beautiful."

After some period of time that simultaneously felt like moments and hours, Acxa and Ezor had finished their primping and bustled him into the girls' bathroom to look at his reflection. He gaped in awe.

Reflected back at him in the mirror was a man who looked confident, bold, an unintentionally seductive incubus. He looked, for lack of a better description, like a Heather. 

"Like it?" Nyma asked, the first thing she had said to him that wasn't negative since the first interaction. He nodded breathlessly, unable to shift his eyes from the vision of himself. "Well, you'll have to work for it."

He spun away from the mirror in surprise. "What do you mean?"

Acxa snickered. "You didn't think it was easy as waving my hand, did you? You've got to  _earn_ being a Heather, prove that it means more to you than any of the inane bullshit in your life before."

He blinked, uncomprehending, then flinched as a harsh tearing sound could be heard echoing in the bathroom. Nyma stepped forward with a loose piece of notebook paper, freshly ripped from a spiral notebook. Lance took it, unsure what he was supposed to do with it even as the blonde pressed a black pen into his open palm. 

"You'll write a note," Acxa said, and suddenly he felt like an impostor, with eyelashes too long and cheeks too dewy pink to be real. "Addressed to your best friend, the dump truck. It will be from Sendak on behalf of Rax, and it will say that Rax is alright with him dating his little sister. Shay, isn't it?"

Lance gaped.

"Oh, honey," Nyma sneered. "Heathers know everything."

"Make the forgery good, dear, or your plush new life will turn into something even worse than before."

* * *

"So that's the deal, Hunk," Lance whispered furtively, having waited until the Heathers were gone before calling his best friend to the bathroom. "They expect it to like, wreck you or something. I don't know what I've gotten into, but I can't get back out without everything being worse than before. I hate to ask, buddy, but can you...act for me?"

Hunk's face was grave, but Lance knew that his best friend was considering what he had said carefully. "I suppose," he said, his words slow, as though he was still thinking even as he spoke. "I mean, I'm glad you told me, so either way, it isn't really a betrayal, is it?"

"If the answer is no, buddy, I'll understand."

Hunk shook his head firmly. "No, that would just make things worse for the both of us. I'll act things out, and I'll know that whatever happens, it really doesn't mean anything, because I already know the trick. It will be fine, Lance, and...you're a good friend for telling me instead of just selling me out."

He startled in surprise. "That's just what a friend  _does._ "

There was a sad smile on his best friend's face. "Don't you know that just about anyone in Westerburg would have sold their closest friend out for less?"

There was nothing to say to that, so Lance deflected the conversation. "Ugh, do you think I could just camp out here for the last few minutes of class? I'm really not looking forward to seeing new reactions without the Heathers, as stupid as that sounds."

"Nah, man, it makes sense to me. Otherwise, people would pick apart your appearance." His friend shrugged. "I think you look really nice, though."

Unbidden, a smile came to his face. "Aw, thanks buddy! I knew we were best friends for a reason."

They exited the bathroom just as the bell rang, and Lance flushed furiously at the thought of walking through the halls with makeup, even looking as good as he did. Then, as though by some twist of fate, the Heathers appeared. 

People literally parted before them, and as he swung around wildly, trying to warn Hunk, he found his friend had already disappeared among the crowd. They were an unstoppable force of nature - until, for some reason, they stopped. 

"Did you get it done, Lance?" Acxa murmured, somehow too quiet for everyone else to hear, no matter how they strained. 

He nodded sharply, attempting to siphon off some of the confident air that surrounded the other. "I slipped it in his locker just now."

She then did something that caused him to think that he was hallucinating.

Acxa smiled at him. 

"Then we're going to gym. Jesus fuck, get out of my way!" The latter part of this statement was directed toward the crowd that inevitably followed the Heathers, congregating around them like moths to light. Ezor slipped her arm into his, and it was in this way, Lance feeling lightheaded and distinctly distant from his body, that they went to their next period.

They only parted once they reached the locker room, Lance slipping inside to change as quickly as possible, before he could get ogled for wearing his makeup. As he wiggled his booty shorts on, someone slapped his ass, and he felt his cheeks flush hotly as someone else jeered, "Looking good, McClain!"

Then there was a hand pressing against the small of his back, and a voice whispering, "You're better than this," in his ear. As he stumbled back, he saw long blond locks disappear from view in the crowded locker room. 

Lotor was a notorious bad boy, known for the fact that he had slept with Heathers from at least two generations, so what the hell kind of warning was he giving him? Fuming, Lance spun out of the locker room, bumping shoulders with someone and muttering a half hearted apology as he passed.

Ezor was waiting for him as he exited, her pink hair bound up into an even higher ponytail than usual. "Lance!" she squealed, locking arms with him again and tugging him in the direction of Nyma and Acxa, who were grabbing a ball from the basket at the opposite side of the gym. This drew the attention of several others, who gaped at a Heather being so friendly with someone outside of their group.

Snatches of whispered questions and comments could be heard as they passed, most some variation of "Who's that with the Heather?" A few other conversations, however, as the initial shock faded, turned a little more inspired. 

"He's weirdly pretty, dude," said one jock, a comment that made Lance flush to his core, knowing how homophobic Westerburg could be. A girl openly gaped at him as he passed, then muttered something about him being sexy to her companion. Ezor giggled at his reticence. "Flaunt it, Lance!" she cheered.

 "Oh my god, Ezor," he mumbled. "Even Lotor had something to say." 

She wrinkled her button nose. "Already? Normally he only goes for female Heathers, but I guess we haven't had a male one in a super long time!"

Just then, Hunk lumbered into their path, just as they had earlier rehearsed. "Oh my god, Lance!" he squealed. "Look at the note Sendak gave me for Rax!"

Whoever had taught Hunk to act needed to be paid a whole lot of money.

"Oh my god!" Lance squealed back, feeling like a double agent of some sort. "You're gonna go, right?"

"Of course!" Hunk beamed. "You can get back to whatever you were doing, but I just wanted to show you."

As Ezor tugged him to the Heathers, Lance felt a hot gaze at his back. Turning slightly, he had just enough time to see an unfamiliar mop of black hair before being swept up by the in crowd.


	4. you're like a lindor truffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance loses his marbles, men are trash (but some of them are beautiful)

Jesus Christ, Lance was lucky he'd taken volleyball with his sister when they were younger. The Heathers weren't fucking around when it came to playing volleyball, and now that Lance was one of them, they had enough people for a three on three team with Throk and Sendak.

Fucking  _great._

Acxa had decided that the teams would be split by gender, and every time Lance spiked the ball over the net to steal a point from his opponents, one or the other would slap his ass. Not that he  _didn't_ like having his ass slapped, or would in theory if he had ever gotten further than a kiss, but his first choice for that wouldn't be either of them. Or tenth. Or hundredth.

Finally, he had enough, and bent over, hands on his knees, pretending like he was catching his breath. "I'm gonna grab some water, guys," he said, his voice light as ever, and skillfully avoided Sendak's attempt at another ass slap as he darted to the relative safety of the bleachers.

He tried to look around for Hunk, wondering if it was safe to seek brief solace in the reassuring warmth of his best friend, but he was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, someone else was more than happy to fill in the gap in conversation.

"Lance."

Lotor. Fucking bastard. Who did he think he was, acting like Lance was some poor lost soul to be pitied? "Hi," he replied, trying to be as curt as possible in hopes that he would go away.

"Come now, Lance," Lotor said, snorting in a way that was infuriatingly elegant. "There's no need to be so rude. People are going to know who you are now, or had you not accounted for that?"

"I don't care if people know who I am now. I just don't want to talk to you. Had you not accounted for that?"

Another snort. Jesus, did the asshole not know how to laugh? "Already so snarky," he said smoothly, taking a step into Lance's personal space. "Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe you aren't better than this after all?"

Lance scoffed. "As if you're any better!" he said, his voice laced with all the pent up irritation that had been blooming in his chest since the day had started. "You sleep with some Heathers and tell the others they're trash - congratulations, you're a real class act. At least I don't have to be a dick to pretend that I have one worth talking about."

"No," Lotor said, looking pointedly at his crotch - which was covered by his over-sized shirt, thank you very much. "You certainly do not."

"Oh, fuck off, dickweed," he said, flushing a deep red. "I don't talk to perverts." He began to walk away, turning aggressively, but Lotor caught him by the arm, squeezing tightly to make sure that he couldn't tug away.

"Think carefully about your next move, Lance," he hissed, nails digging into the soft flesh of his arm. "You're not prepared for what being a Heather will mean for you."

Lance wrenched his arm away, skin smarting where the other had groped him, then flipped him off. 

He was so furious that as he stomped away, he didn't even notice as his shoulder slammed against someone else's. 

" _Shit!_ " he yelped, then turned to the other person. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking-"

Holy  _shit._ The boy he had bumped into...there were no other words to describe him. Distantly, Lance recognized him as the black hair he had thought he'd seen when he felt someone looking at him earlier, but why the hell would anyone who looked like  _that_ look at him at all?

The other boy had silky black hair in what appeared to be some sort of mullet, but he was tying it up again and  _oh my god_ it looked sexy when it was in a ponytail. His eyes were a soft gray violet color, and Lance would have killed for the angular structure of his face.

"Clearly not," the other kid snorted, and Lance only had time to think  _holy shit his voice sounds like my wet dreams_ before he registered the insult in the other's tone. 

"Hey!" 

The kid's mouth curled up at one corner, a wry grin that Lance wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss off or punch off. "I should have gotten out of the way, Your Highness."

Now Lance's brow furrowed, because this kid seemed beyond just irritated with a simple mistake. "I'm sorry, did I do something? I'm pretty sure I've never seen you in my life, but if I've bumped into you before or something, I didn't mean to."

Now the kid had a full on mocking smile. "You didn't have to do anything. Your entire existence  _screams_ whiny bitch who will do anything for attention and popularity. Life is fleeting, sweetheart. High school doesn't fucking matter."

Color rushed to Lance's cheeks, and he balled his fists. " _Excuse_ me? I don't know who the fuck you think you are, walking in here like I should know or care about you and your opinion, but you don't get to lug around your pretentious ass opinions and pretend that you're fucking God judging my sins when you're just another high school nobody who doesn't know a thing about me. Congratulations, Dostoevsky, you've unlocked the secrets of the fucking universe, but just because you think you're above whatever petty bullshit is going on in high school, that doesn't mean that you'll be anything but a pathetic loser who whines about people being prettier and more well liked than you just because some of us have manners once we graduate!"

Lance's chest heaved with effort, and only after a second or two of total silence in the gym did he realize that his volume had increased until he had been screaming the last sentence. Then, Acxa started clapping.

Moments later, he could just hear Ezor yell, "Go Lance!" through the blood pounding in his skull.

As he whirled around, stomping back to the Heathers, he thought he saw the soft edge of a genuine smile and heard a passive, "The name's Keith."

Upon reaching Acxa, he slouched, utterly exhausted.

"I don't think I'm cut out to be a Heather."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lance SNAPPED


	5. if i die, at least i go out looking cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance gets welcomed to the candy store; keith has shit to say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT TW FOR RACIAL AND HOMOPHOBIC SLURS  
> WE DO NOT STAN THIS BEHAVIOR  
> WE DO NOT CONDONE IT  
> THIS IS PURELY TO HIGHLIGHT HOW HEINOUS THE HEATHERS ARE THAT THEY THINK THIS IS OKAY

"I don't think I'm cut out to be a Heather."

Nyma raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Pussying out already? I knew you would be pathetic, but Jesus  _fuck,_ you really are competing for the picture next to the definition, aren't you?"

"You can do it, Lance!" Ezor said, a worried smile adorning her face. "You did such a good job with Lotor and that other guy, I'm sure you'll have no problem with anyone else!"

Acxa's gaze was ice cold. "Is this about to be a  _problem?"_ she asked, each word hissed through her teeth like she was spitting glass. "After all I've done for you, you worthless shit? Normally, I'd make a scene and watch your life fall to pieces, but you put that Jap fag in his place, so I'll be generous. Listen closely, McClain, because you're not getting this luxury twice."

Nyma grasped his upper arm, the points of her dangerously filed red nails digging into his skin like tiny knives. Ezor was only slightly more gentle, and with Acxa at the forefront like some kind of fucked up Moses, they marched him outside.

For a brief moment, Lance thought they might jump him, but that was ridiculous.

Heathers would never do that kind of dirty work themselves.

They released him with his back to the wall, and as Acxa stalked toward him, he flinched back into the stony brick edges of the school.

"You look at us, McClain," she bit out, each word like a bullet. "And you see party girls. We smoke, we drink, we fuck like it takes no effort. What you  _don't_ see is that it takes balls of steel to be a Heather. Sure, it's fun to be one of us, and none of you rats could unseat us if you tried, but you don't get to kick back on your throne of bodies until you bust a few faces first."

"Acxa wouldn't have picked you if you didn't have potential, Lance!" Ezor said, and though she smiled, her eyes plead with him to reconsider.

"Listen, McClain." Acxa's gaze bore into him like twin drills. "You can go back to Shamu, continue your little circle jerk while pretending your life is going to amount to anything, or you can grow a pair and put some bitches in their place. Life isn't a Hallmark movie, and the sooner you learn that, the happier you'll be."

"Don't you wanna be untouchable, McClain?"

"Shut up. Nyma."

"Sorry, Acxa."

Acxa dug the tip of her French manicured nail into his chest. "You can have everything you've ever wanted, or get six below. None of these freaks have ever done anything for  _you,_ have they? Don't waste your potential on wash ups who came from generations of dried up whores. They'd stab you in the back and spit on the wound if it meant getting to be where you are."

Lance's eyes widened. This was the most fucked up pep talk he had ever gotten, but if it was eat or be eaten... "Sign me the fuck up."

"Knew you'd see it my way." Satisfied, Acxa stepped back. "Take a minute to collect yourself before you come back in. Your lip gloss is smudged."

Handing him a pink tube, she flounced back inside, Nyma and Ezor flanking her in perfect unison.

 _"La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas,"_ said a voice behind him.

Lance whirled around, only to see the dark haired boy from before, perfect mouth stretched in a perfectly mocking grin. "I don't speak French," he said, pointing to the tan of his skin. "Always been more of a Spanish guy myself."

The other guy snorted, looking faintly amused. "How about another one, then? This time in English.  _The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance; we find delight in the most loathsome things; some furtherance of Hell each new day brings, and yet we feel no horror in that rank advance."_

 _"Christ,_ that was the most pretentious thing I've ever heard."

"How typically cliche of you to miss the point entirely. Do you even remember my name?"

"You could hardly blame me if I didn't, considering you whispered it at me  _as I walked away from you,_ but it's Keith, right?"

Keith raised his eyebrows as though mildly impressed that a senior could do addition, or some condescending bullshit like that. "I'm proud of you. I was pretty sure you were gonna say Jap fag."

Lance winced. "Listen...that wasn't cool. I get it, you know? Raft monkey and all that. I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

"More than I expected, honestly, so I'll take it." Keith's eyes were inscrutable - and really fucking pretty. "You're pretty new to this whole beautiful tyrant thing, huh?"

"You could say that."

"Then a word of advice for you: back out now. These things never end up pretty, especially for the fresh meat."

"Dunno what choice I  _have_ but to delay the inevitable."

"And take your friend down with you?" The surprise on Lance's face must have been more than obvious by the tiny smirk Keith wore. "I've seen a thousand Heathers, man. A little lip gloss isn't gonna make shit better."

Ninety-nine percent of Lance wanted him to shut his attractive mouth. Luckily, the logical one percent won out before he could do something stupid like blurt out his secret agreement with Hunk.

"Dude, not to interrupt your moral high ground or anything, but you don't know me. I know you think you're hot shit, quoting Baudelaire to me - don't give me that look, I  _read_ \- but you're just trying to survive like everyone else. I'm doing what I have to do, so maybe you should get out of your goddamn glass house."

Keith shrugged. "Fair enough."

 _"Thank_ you!"

"I'm not gonna stop giving you shit, though," he said, and flashed a cheesy smile that made Lance melt. "It's too much fun to torment the only other living soul."

 _"Vete a la mierda, diablo,"_ Lance muttered, and Keith laughed.

"See you later, Ken Doll," he said, turning around with a hair flip that would make even Acxa jealous. "Oh, and Lance?"

_"What?"_

"You look cute in those shorts."

WIth that, he left, and Lance slid to the ground, defeated. 

 _Fuck,_ that bastard was hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once more, this FUCKING fic rises from the dead
> 
> no, i didn't see seasons six-eight, yes, i know what mostly happened, no, i don't care about the characters or story arcs therein  
> other than gay shiro obvs rip adam
> 
> u can find me on tumblr @bokutoma for my writing!


	6. if you would fight for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance gets into some eighties feels; keith has a lot of aggression and the skills to back it up

"Get your head on straight?" Acxa asked when Lance re-entered the gym. 

"Yeah," he muttered, her snide tone not enough to dissuade his brain from launching directly into  _ **BISEXUAL CRISIS**_ mode. "Yeah, you were right."

She eyed him skeptically, but evidently decided that whatever he was thinking about wasn't worth the effort. "Damn right I am."

Nyma looked like she was about to say something inane and probably bitchy, but he was spared by the telltale sounds of a fight about to break out.

Immediately, he turned with the sort of morbid usually reserved for watching pinned butterflies flutter their last, crossing his fingers and hoping no one had picked Hunk as their target. Instead, he was rewarded with what might have been the best thing he'd seen in all four years he'd spent at Westerburg.

Keith had just punched Sendak in the jaw, and, as if that in and of itself wasn't incredible enough, he had knocked the dickhead directly onto his ass.

"What the  _fuck_ just happened?" he hissed urgently, turning toward Ezor, the only one who had actually been facing that corner of the gym. "Did I really just see that with my own two eyes?"

"Sendak and Throk just came up to him and said something...I couldn't hear what," Ezor replied, her bubblegum hair swinging animatedly as she talked. "That guy was taking it pretty well, so I thought maybe they wanted him to try out for the team or something, but then he clenched his fist and POW!"

"How charmingly descriptive," Acxa said dryly, rolling her eyes. "Come on, I wanna get a good view when those two idiots pound him into a pulp."

Lance followed, hoping that his quick steps would be construed as eagerness rather than the worry that filled his every sense like the smell of reheated school pizza.

Maybe that was just the pepperoni slice Hunk had dropped behind the bleachers last year, though.

By the time the Heathers had settled like carrion crows onto the bleachers, Sendak was up again, and Throk had joined the fray. If Lance had thought he'd seen them pissed before, it was nothing compared to the sheer fury on their faces now.

"You're dead meat now, soyboy!" Throk snarled, and, quick as a flash, he'd gotten Keith in the face with a well placed left hook.

Keith stumbled, and Lance's heart contracted in his chest. There was a tenseness in the way he felt his jaw that spoke of pain, but when he moved his hand, he wore a feral smile. His gaze roamed across the crowding student body, animalistic and predatory.

 _God,_ that was hot.

Sendak attempted to redeem himself with a wild haymaker, and right as everyone in the first three rows braced for impact, Keith disappeared.

Not  _literally,_ of course. As much as Lance wished this shitshow was an action-adventure anime - it might explain something - he lived in regular old suburbia where no one could vanish into an alternate dimension through a wormhole or something cool like that.

Instead, Keith dodged to the side like he could fucking flash step irl and spun into a roundhouse kick that caught Throk in the ribs.

 _"Shit,"_ Acxa murmured, and if he thought she could be impressed, that's what it would sound like.

"Shit," Lance agreed.

Briefly, he entertained the thought of Keith fighting for  _him,_ and thought he might pass out at the very idea.

Still maybe if Keith had been his friend, his boyfriend, he might have made a different decision. It was stupid and childish to think that whatever the desperate teenage brand of love was could cure anything, he knew, but in that moment, it felt right, and he knew he could have remade the world if Keith was on his side.

Then one of Throk's lackeys pushed out from the circle and shoved Keith, catching him off balance long enough for one of Sendak's hits to connect with a sickening crack.

The gym teacher came out from whatever pit he normally hunkered down in and sent Keith to the nurse, but nothing happened to either Sendak or Throk, and Lance seethed in rage.

"What a shame," Acxa said, already looking bored. "It was just starting to get exciting."

Sendak and Throk bumped chests, and Nyma rolled her eyes.

"Kinda pathetic that both of you couldn't take him on yourself, huh?" she called, and the boys sobered almost immediately.

"Let's go," Acxa commanded, and they all rose up as if on marionette strings. "I've got better things to do than watch them jack each other off."

As they stalked down the bleachers, Lance couldn't help but cast a long look toward the hall where Keith had been taken.

Regardless of who had won that fight, he wanted to be Team Keith for a good while to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: @bokutoma
> 
> twitter: @deracinatin


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